


Minimal Pairs

by trailingviolets



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Past Mind Control, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Renperor, Running Away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingviolets/pseuds/trailingviolets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey is sent to kill Emperor Ren. She is unable.</p><p>(Previously titled For Blue Skies published in December 2016. This was the vision behind that first shot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minimal Pairs

Tinny footfalls echo down the length of the corridor.

Rey counts the movements of her shaking breath, in and out. One, two, to match the sound of boots on the steel. 

She hopes to avoid confrontation by luck if not by stealth, and while it's worked thus far, such a strategy does leave something to be desired. 

Rey's most wary of the prospect of killing a stormtrooper with a story like Finn. Or like her own, marooned alone in the First Order reality of join or be crushed.

Pointedly she avoids any thought of her family; at this point, it's just another tired fantasy that leads to distraction.

As time passes, Rey's anxious for a confrontation with the only Force user on Starkiller.

More than anything, she's nervous to come up short in the courage to do what's right.

As she walks into yet another dead-end glass wall, Rey admits to herself that she's a little lost. 

"What the hell are you waiting for?"

Poe's disembodied voice startles Rey so hard she jumps in place, before remembering the wire snaking down her back.

He sounds world-weary and irritated through the crackling comm, likely juggling far too many drills to oversee Rey's one-man mission.

She was told the timing had to be exactly right for this endeavor, or the Resistance would be unable to assist.

It isn't behooving the timeline that Rey is disoriented in an unfamiliar part of the base that doesn't show on her holomap.

Poe is pissed with some righteous vigor, but he doesn't know the half of it.

"I'm not waiting for anything!" Rey snaps at him, defensive. "This place is a labyrinth." 

"Come again for sympathy," Poe says grimly, "It's hailing ice cubes outside. My windshield's cracked." 

"No wonder you're in such a bad mood." He scoffs, an admission that Rey is more or less correct.

"If you think I'm mean, get a load of the fellows around you."

"Amen to that," Rey answers. She's out of things to say and tired of whispering.

The line goes quiet, the faint, beeping tracker analyzing her surroundings.

"Yeah, turn left there. Just keep walking, you'll know," Poe corrects.

"Thanks," she says.

The infinite hall turns her voice into nothing, and her words are lost even to Poe.

She waits until the line goes dead to mumble a godless prayer of private hope. That she's leaving whatever's left of her family behind a little safer for her sacrifice.

Rey knows this is may well be the last chance she gets to make peace with the past, and it's precious little patience she has for going to her grave unfinished.

Briefly she wishes for the nerve to tell Poe.  _I'm a Force user. He knows I'm here, it's no surprise. I'm about to die._

Rey takes the next step at a run, leaving that cowardice behind. She's the only one that stands a chance at taking down the Emperor anyway.

If Luke can't follow the darkness far enough to see her hiding in the shadows of the Force there, it's because of her own innate failure in gravitating there.

It's not because he's willfully blind to Rey, and it's certainly not because Ren, of all people, understands her better for being a Sith and not a Jedi. 

As promised by Poe, the end of the corridor fans out into a buzzing hangar before her.

Ships larger than Rey knew existed dock back and forth in uneventful, albeit corrupt, commerce.

Carefully, she shuffles along the edge of the wall, silent.

Rey's intent on surviving, if only by engaging the first person to pick her out of the crowd, and holding them off as long as it takes.

She has to get Ren's attention quick if she wants the plan to work. It's this advantage or death-and the element of surprise is absurdly crucial. 

Without it, all Rey has is speed, and all the foolhardy, fleeting hope of the Resistance.

She catches the attention of the guards quick, and then there's no more time to strategize. 

Rey dodges a volley of blaster fire purposed as a warning and a promise, shrinking into the wall and realizing with no small fear-there's no going back now.

She must survive. Has to. In this moment, she is all the hope of Resistance, and that is forbidden to die.

Rey has no idea if she's channeling a collective bravery or her own dreamlike, faulty tremors as she steps into the light, under the scrutiny of the snipers and the cameras on the walls. 

Hux is the first general to catch notice of the altercation in the corner of the hangar. By then she has most of the guards under mind control.

He sidles across the hall, taking measure of Rey with snake-skin steps.

Hux is in no obvious rush to put her out of danger of being struck in the chest from one of the men higher on the wall, out of her capacity to reach.

The fact that he's willing to risk the Emperor's fury sends a shudder of fear through her. Maybe they're closer than she knew, and Hux will execute her where she stands under full orders.

"Scavenger," Hux hisses, eyes dark, and Rey knows instantly that it's personal. 

It must taste so delicious to him, the power he has for a moment over her.

To know before Ren that she's come to seek out the Order, to know before a superior who has all the benefit of the Emperorship and the Force on his side.

Hux angles his lightsaber-and where did he manage to get a lightsaber if the Emperor wasn't involved?-up to her face, mocking her to admire it.

Thankfully, Rey has grace left to look intimidated by it's still-white fading glow.

"You know non-Force sensitives can kill lightsabers, if they use them too long," she says huskily, keeping her voice confident so the guards can eavesdrop if they wish.

Hux's desire for Rey turns sour in an instant.

"Stupid bitch," he growls. There's no nuance between them now, no illusion of capture. One false move and she's gone.

Hux moves as if to slit her throat in a clumsy motion, but his saber flies into the wall of the hangar useless, bidden by a force other than Rey's.

It's then that the galaxy first teaches Rey what relief is.

Except Ren's not wearing a crown, like in her thoughts, but the same crude creature-mask she's seen before.

Abruptly, the half-smile drains from Rey's face.

Now she feels like a real victim, backed against a cold wall by someone she can't altogether outstrip. 

As the Emperor nears, she feels the heat of his lightsaber and the quality of its corrupted energy, churning and indecisive, and how it yearns to drink the last light in her mind away.

It's power is a perfect foil for Hux's saber, and she knows in a second why Ren allowed such a perjury of the Force.

As soon as he tries to, Rey lets him paralyze her. There's no point in putting on an artifice of strength.

Plus, Rey's curious to find out what's coming in this sick parody of a surprise attack, now that she's not in control. 

She's still enough that Ren could wave his lightsaber without fear of accidentally decapitating her, but he doesn't, unlike Hux.

There's no showboat triumph, no malice in his energy towards her.

Rey reads instead wonder, and oddly, the bittersweetness of old friends gone to strangers.

Even stranger is the fact that there's no pain when Ren touches her mind. 

Just a gloved hand reaching purposely between them and it's seamless, perilously close to the tenderness of falling asleep after a long exertion in the heat.

In her mind's eye, the Emperor stands respectfully to the side of Rey's memory.

He doesn't dash at the walls in anger, nor does he seek to poke at the no-entry zone of her precious memories of her family, as bricked-off and guarded as Rey's tense smiles.

Ren stands forever and stares, deathly silent. Unnerving and clearly uncomfortable, he twitches at the mouth in a sad, familiar way.

Rey learned first by listening to Leia's fairy tales of Jedi lore that mind-bonding can be used as a weapon of pure pain, a torture tactic meant to break the stubborn or the foolhardy of resistance. 

She learned this lesson best from Ren himself, the first time they met.

But she knows even more about mind-bonding from the stolen sacred texts tucked in her bag.

Rey knows telepathy is also a tool of togetherness.

That it can give unspeakable pleasure mainlined straight from the energy of the universe, accessible only to grey Force-sensitives who know the depths of the dark side as well as the light.

Rey's greatest frustration is the knowledge that the Emperor could be the last person capable of sharing such a thing.

It curbs her desire to find out what it would feel like to be so close to another person, to share such a profound connection, and it fits neatly into a lifetime of love she can't have.

Still, it's shockingly peaceful between them in Rey's head, almost like a truce.

She gets the notion that maybe Ren came to his own clandestine conclusion about the existence of the texts-and her-and is willing to give it a shot.

Realization comes slowly as she stares across the space of her mind at Ren, too transfixed to notice her watching.

He's not searching for anything, and he never was.

He's taking in the cathedral ceiling of her memories with admiration-with desire? And with the intent of using what information he gathers later on to try to attempt mind-bonding.

Rey understands then the Emperor's motive in wanting her to live.

It's an absurd, painful moment that Rey lets herself bite down on the grief before letting go, of the ten whole seconds she allowed herself to imagine something different.

She never liked him; it would be trite to think otherwise. Not enough to be experimented on and twisted around by the darkness.

As Rey reflexively claws down a disappointment she doesn't even recognize well enough to name, Ren's left her head. 

Rey comes back to her surroundings, to the cold of the hanger and to the reality of her hard-won understanding of him.

There's no way of knowing just by looking into the emotionlessness of the mask what he's feeling now, but she steels herself for the worst.

Rey shivers spineless, frozen to the spot, expecting a blow to knock her unconscious.

Eventually Rey notices she's no longer paralyzed, nor threatened, nor becoming a prisoner.

"Follow me," the mask says in it's Vader voice, and Rey quietly obeys.

Ren escorts her by the elbow across the never-ending metal corridor to a ship, to her ship, the Falcon, docked in a different place from where she left it behind.

Without a moment's pause, he throws her through the open door into privacy.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Rey's safely aboard, Ren is all fury.

He's consumed by the darkness of pent-up anger, unrecognizable and taller than his stature.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing trying to ambush me? You, a wannabe Jedi, who I can feel coming a lightyear away-" his mask hurdles into the Falcon's auxiliary control panel inches from her head, and Rey winces for the fragile systems housed there.

"They didn't know I had the Force when they gave me the mission," Rey pulls the wire from behind her back in an overwrought gesture of sarcasm. "Do you think they put me on comm for fun, just in case I didn't get killed?"

Ren is silent as he seethes, seeming to come to an impasse within himself before turning from her entirely.

His eyes alight on the clinking dice above the Falcon's dash, and Rey is more than glad not to see his face, not to relive that day and her hatred of him.

Rey wonders if he knows she shakes them for good luck in the pilot's chair, like Han before her. 

She wonders if he's aware she's all but forgiven him, in light of what Snoke was ready to inflict on him if he failed.

"Get off of my base," he hisses at her, hoarse from shouting. "And I don't want to see you flying with the orange again, or I will have to raise fire against the Falcon like any other ship." 

Rey sighs, steeling herself. 

"I can't leave without killing you, I'm sorry."

It's not part of the plan that she return to the Resistance, the only home she has, an unwanted failure.

The disbelief in Ren's expression is feral as he wheels around. She stares unflinching into his eyes, trying not to stare at the ugliness of his scar.

"Are you rejecting my offer to redeem this third-rate suicide mission?"

"I'm sorry," Rey repeats, more confident in herself now that the Emperor's revealed his weakness. "Orders are orders."

Ren takes a step towards her with the same uncomfortable, unbroken eye contact that no longer intimidates Rey. At least not as much as the first time she almost killed him.

"Is that really what you want, to see me dead and cold at your feet? Just so you can tell your x-wing friends you fired the glory shot, and move up in rank to what, a two-star General?"

Rey tries to glance away, for his words if not his glare, but the weight of the betrayal of those she cares about forbids Rey from backing down. 

"I want to stop the Empire from taking more of my friends," Rey reasons. "And you're the Empire now. I can't let that go."

She stands her ground a second too long. The eerie feeling that they might embrace unwinds, and the Emperor looks down fleetingly in hurt.

"As you wish," he says tiredly. 

Kneeling in his red cape at her feet, Ren raises the hilt of his lightsaber with the Force to hover at her waist. "Get it over with. I'm sure any hell is better than the one we're living in."

"That's it?" Rey asks, before she can think better of it. Her voice comes out high-pitched and protesting, and makes her curse having questioned such luck at all.

She may not know yet why this is a trap, but it scares Rey infinitely more to consider that Ren is serious about giving up.

"Kill me," he orders. "Make it quick and you can tell the General that I died peacefully."

In his averted eyes Rey finds the truth; he would rather die than kill her.

He looked into her mind and touched on the so-well-hidden compassion she's stowed away for him, and it changed him. Either this afternoon or long before.

She's why he killed Snoke so suddenly, after years of indentured servitude.

After fourteen years of abject torture, of getting kicked in the face for forgetting to bow, of starving in a pitch-black room, of being made an example of to the other Knights, of loneliness the galaxy wide.

Rey sees it when she closes her eyes for too long on her cot, because according to the Force, they are two halves in the darkness, grappling for the light. 

They are not light and dark, but each somewhere in between,  _and Ren thinks he's holding her back._

The Emperor ultimately wasn't strong enough to kill his last impulse towards attachment. It wasn't Han, it was Rey. 

All along she thought he was taking stock to experiment on her mind in gruesome ways. He was really trying to say goodbye to something he felt he knew.

Rey surveys him hunched at her feet, eyes tightly shut. On his mouth is a sad, pained grimace of regret.

That she's choosing to kill him on principle, when he was ready to save her.

There's no room for hesitation now that Rey knows what she has to do.

Any other action would irrevocably cast her into the darkness, and that's exactly where she can't be.

Rey takes the Emperor's shimmering lightsaber, and swings it purposefully into his skull. 

 

* * *

 

"What the fuck is going on?" 

Rey lifts her gaze from the straight-out starred horizon of space. 

"We're in transit," she answers gruffly. After a moment, explaining, "I couldn't kill you, so I knocked you out. I did it as hard as I could for that time you bashed me into a tree."

The Emperor looks mildly more awake, if startled to be alive, and calmer than he has since she's known him. 

"Oh," is his best thought-out response. "Where are we going?"

To jail, should be Rey's answer. 

"We're hovering. I'm trying to decide what to do."

"Let's go to Naboo," he suggests casually. 

"Naboo?" Rey asks. As if she had time to learn the arbitrary planets of the galaxy on her way into selective service with the Resistance.

Ren looks at her with a twisted grin of amusement.

It irritates Rey that this scenario has even been aired to the light of day, that they're speaking like this, that she inherited the Falcon, _not Ren_ , and that she's embarrassing herself by not knowing which way to drive it.

"Move over, I'll show you the route," he commands, and grudgingly she makes room in the cramped cockpit.

The dice tinkle overhead as the ship whirs into second drive, as Ren presses at buttons she hasn't dared to try.

Rey risks conjuring a memory of him learning to pilot on the Falcon, long ago.

She imagines most clearly Chewie's inevitable overprotectiveness of the ship's coat of paint.

"Nothing like that at all," Ren says bitterly, just when Rey thinks she might be safe.

"I still have your lightsaber," she reminds him. "And it says stay out of my head."

Stars whip past like a storm in the intervening moments, and just like that they're across the universe.

It still manages to bring something ironic out in Rey, the ease of it.

As they clear the atmosphere of the planet, Ren rises from his seat, relegating himself to a pedestrian chair in the corner of the ship.

"You've fixed it up pretty well, for a junker," he mutters, and buckles himself for the landing.

"Thanks," Rey returns, vindicated. 

Ren gives her the last word until they disboard.

 

* * *

 

"You're too much of a rebel to be part of the Resistance."

They're spread out over a camo blanket in an unbearably green field in Naboo, picking at strange-colored fruits and glowering at each other.

It's not armistice but it's not war either, and for that Rey doesn't know how to be grateful enough. 

"I say we try it," she says. "It's about the only thing you're good for."

"Oh, and then you kill me?" It doesn't come out like a joke, and he's not looking at her again.

"Learn to take a compliment," she says awkwardly, letting the conversation fall.

After a pause, Ren hisses, "Alright, if we must," and crosses his legs to meditate.

Rey does the same, and they sit together in repose until Rey feels ready.

Surprisingly, it takes her less time to find her true center, away from the dark and the light.

* * *

 

In her head, Ren's taking inventory again, this time by invitation.

"Please concentrate on the task at hand," Rey growls, self-conscious and annoyed that he's stalling.

She hates feeling vulnerable; it never heralds good things and it's unbecoming of a Jedi.

"Alright, alright," he bites out. "You're making it complicated. I'm just trying to figure out this shield you have hiding your emotions."

"Excuse me?" she says, edging him a little away from her thoughts. "Was that a complaint?"

"Don't shove me," he growls, "You could stand to learn a thing or two about feelings."

"What are you going to try to make me feel?" Right now all she feels is irritation, and she's sure that's not it.

"I can't tell you," he responds. "Because then I won't know if I actually made you feel it or not."

"My word is good," Rey snaps. 

"It's not that I don't trust you." Ren glances at her through her mind's eye. The soft look of interest on his face is reassuring. "I just want to be sure."

"Okay, let me help."

She shuts her eyes to block out the emotions he's already giving her, dread, anxiety, longing, surprise, and tries to be empty and new.

Rey senses it suddenly, a flickering weak taste of what he transfers.

She squeezes her eyes tighter, making ceaseless mental commands for the feeling to grow stronger, brighter, to be extreme, and it _transforms_.

The image of the Emperor in her head is wiped away by its glow. 

Where she expected pain, Rey feels joy.

Joy that circumvents the horizon of the bare stars and fills her chest with a cracking tremor of possibility that threatens to bring her with it into the clouds.

It draws tears from lonely obscure places that house unwanted images of hollow-faced, smudged men in the shadows of Jakku, holding begging bowls or drinking cups.

It inks out the flinty screaming nightmare that chased Rey into adulthood, the heartbreaking tendril of a five-year-old girl hollering "Come back!" and collapsing into the hot sand.

It drinks of her body and forms around her shoulders like a cloak.

It warms her like the collective fire of memory, laughter with friends and lover's stretched kisses that she never had.

Therein is the only fault in Ren's flawless imagining; assuming Rey might have anything fond to look back on from her time on Jakku.

The joy turns sour and it's no longer hers, but floating in the atmosphere, bereft with nowhere to concentrate itself. 

The light dies abruptly before Rey's eyes, leaving her groping in her mind for sanity in the cloying darkness.

"Look at me," Ren whispers, soulless and bruised from where he was cast against her consciousness. "It's okay, it worked. That's a start."

"The texts said it would," Rey huffs out, winded. "They didn't say that it's not a feeling; it's mental transference."

"I don't think it's normal for it to be this way," he answers immediately. They stare at each other, lost. "I think," he hesitates. "I think it's different because we've bonded before."

"So did you lose all happiness permanently, or what?" she asks after a pause. He smiles, and it curls pleasantly, like something scratchy against her fingers.

That's what he feels like when he's not trying to be anything; warm inside her head. 

"I didn't mean to overwhelm you," he says.

"Well you did," Rey answers, because really, who knew the Emperor was capable of feeling  _anything_ good, much less the kind of joy capable of curing the gripe in her bad ankle and making her hallucinate happy memories of a home she never felt.

Rey snaps back into reality before the Emperor can call attention to the grief that flashes before her painfully. 

It breaks their mental connection abruptly, sending both of them sprawling.

Across the blanket, Ren looks positively ill in his body from the sudden change of location. Hunched over, his grey face trembles on the verge of being sick.

Rey stifles the lunatic urge to apologize. 

"Not your fault," Ren manages to say, though there's no trace of another person in her head. 

She comes to another decision-questions all she knows-assesses the plan of the Gods-and accepts that the Emperor gave a piece of himself to her, and he's not getting it back, and this is why she's beginning to tolerate him, and not because of the newfound maturity he shows when least prompted.

"I'm just a little motion sick," he explains in response to her worried expression. "It's already better."

"Intense," Rey comments quietly. 

"Yeah," he says in return. "There's no knowing what to expect with this." Clearly he means the two of them-their Force abilities-and whatever else is at play holding them together in the galaxy like a minimal pair.

Rey bites back her sarcasm by standing, setting off to take a walk down to the waterfall path.

"I trust you'll make it until dinner," she calls over her shoulder, not bothering to turn to catch his reply.

 

* * *

 

Making camp brings out the helpless innocent in Rey. She had no need of expensive fire-making tools in the desert. 

She struggles with the flint, sparking her arms multiple times and cursing to shame a port trader.

"Here," Ren says impatiently. He strikes on impact and nurses the fire for a moment until it burns heat-bright.

As he retreats back to the ring of darkness around their camp, Rey sighs.

"Do you want me to try now?" she asks. After her walk she found him asleep in the grass, burnt-out but peaceful. 

He woke just before sunset, interrupting her Westward meditation by puking into the bushes.

"Try what?"

"Transferring something to you, to even things out."

"I'm not sick cause I was with you, Rey," he says darkly, "I'm sick because I'm still getting used to joy again."

"Oh," she says. "Life after Snoke." Ren's face is inscrutably set to neutral. No twitch of the lip to signal unrest, not even a movement from his corner.

"You can try regardless," he allows. "But be gentle on yourself. Pick something you don't need."

Once she's settled across from him, Rey closes her eyes.

Effortlessly she joins Ren in his mind.

Rey surveys the ugliness of a desolate space. The good memories are pitiful few stacked against the bad. The walls are the color of mold, haphazard and grimy, but wiped down from her last visit.

"Different than when you were here," he remarks.

"You cleaned up a bit," she says wryly.

The influence of Snoke she met with before has been cleared like cobwebs. No longer is she dizzy just from occupying his mind, no longer can she feel her body being prodded and picked-at with each growing second.

What's left is a honey-slow self-doubt and the soft, pattering sense of loneliness that made Rey itch in recognition once before.

"Lonely being in charge?" she pries. He shrugs, wary.

"Sometimes," he admits. They stare at each other, sharing the silence.

It's still a mystery to Rey how Ren got the transfer to work, but she's willing to try anything to take the feverish, sallow look from his face.

Rey cards through the stack of memory closest to her, trying to find a place to start.

It's all pain, deprivation, pain, training-getting his nose broken?-hunger, vomiting, pain, humiliation, cold. 

Rey winces back a step but soldiers on until she finds what she's looking for in the morass of that time.

_You, you're afraid._

As deftly as she can, she pictures the exchange from her perspective. How it gave her a sick, selfish excitement to know that she wasn't alone.

To know a man-a Force user-could look at her like that. In awe.

Rey imagines wrapping him in the glittering hope that seemed to stretch across solar systems and make the sky sharp with saccharine sunlight. 

She imagines standing by a pond papered with fallen leaves, a white-walled temple in the background. She imagines stooping by the bench where fourteen year old, shaking-from-anxiety, black-eyed Ben sits, knees curled to his chin. "I'm coming for you," She imagines whispering, with the strength of determination that signifies a promise. 

She imagines until she's dry of energy, sapped. 

Still, Rey continues to give from a place of love. She gives him the hope she felt for her parents that carried her alive out of the horror of her childhood and that eased a woven canopy of tired nighttime tears.

She places it in his lap and prays that it is enough to stitch him back together.

It occurs to Rey in hindsight that she was always too cynical for hope, and that the tricks they are playing on each other are complicating their very DNA. 

Abruptly, Rey falls unceremoniously back into her body, heart hammering unpleasantly with adrenaline. 

Ren sits pensive in front of her, clearly speechless. There's a rawness around his mouth that draws Rey's gaze.

Holding her aching head in a hand, Rey asks, "What happened to make it stop?"

"You gave too much," he advertises lamely. "I didn't want to take more than I needed."

It's almost silly to say what they both know aloud, but Rey speaks anyway.

"I didn't want you to go without. I wasn't expecting you to ration it."

Ren almost laughs. "Rationing implies scarcity," he teases, stoking the fire.

Rey isn't sure whether it's too involving to go along with the Emperor's effort at friendship.

Eventually, ultimately, she's going to have to kill him, or be killed. 

She chooses how hard it's going to prove by how much she invests, and Rey is already impossibly far gone in hesitation and want just from sharing with they do by nature.

No need to further complicate.

* * *

 

"We need to explore this more, not just for us." Ren's flat on his back, eyeing the stars and drinking from a private flagon of berry wine that he has yet to share.

"We don't know our limits. One of us could go too far."

"Exactly, we don't know the limits of what this can do for the galaxy! We could be the first people to find out."  

"Don't get excited," Rey interrupts. "I'm not using the Force for evil."

Ren's glance washes over her with a look of annoyance.

"Me neither," he says tersely, and takes the familiar exit down the dirt path to the water.

As soon as he's out of sight, Rey leans into her psyche, meditating until she's on her green island far away from thoughts of lingering doubt. 

For some reason, though she should be feeling positively devoid of hope, Rey senses something brighter about her mind than she felt just days ago.

As if summoned, an inkling crosses Rey's mind; it's not transference so much as healing that they practice. 

Healing that could save a starving family in the desert.

* * *

 


End file.
